


Michael in the Bathroom with Someone Else

by VolarFinch



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Gen, I thought it was good enough to post, OC interactions, Panic Attacks, Pokemon - Freeform, but it's happy, michael has a panic attack, michael in the bathroom fic, this was the creation of self venting I just, vague boyf riends, very vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolarFinch/pseuds/VolarFinch
Summary: “Um, hello?” a nervous voice called from the other side of the door. Their voice was almost drowned out by the music. “I just––um, this might be weird but, like, um, you’ve been in there for forty minutes and I just––I don’t know how––um, I––are you okay?”Michael froze, hand twitching as a new set of tears pooled at his eyes. They sound like Jeremy, he thought numbly, the stumbling and stuttering all–too–familiar in a way that hurt. He could faintly hear ‘loser’ echoing in the back of his mind like a bad mantra, taunting him at his lost friendship.“I––“ He couldn’t seem to manage anything.“You don’t need to answer!” the person said quickly, a panicky tone evident. “I just––I thought I heard crying? And I just, um, wanted to know if you were… good.” They finished the sentence awkwardly, like that wasn’t the word they were looking for and they were struggling to find it. “That sounded better in my head. Listen, um, I’ll just go, I’m sorry to bother you, I just––fuck, I’m sorry, I––““It’s okay,” Michael interrupted softly. He was surprised to hear his own voice––he sounded awful. “I just––I was leaving a––anyways.”





	Michael in the Bathroom with Someone Else

**Author's Note:**

> HEY, YOU! YEAH, YOU! PERSON READING THIS FIC! 
> 
> Okay so before you continue on, I'd like to say that Alex, the OC in this story, has been revamped into Veronica Taylor, who is featured in my other story, Maybe. I'd love if you'd check it out and give critiques on Veronica and the story. It would mean a lot to me.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me on Tumblr @volarfinch

Michael Mell found himself in the bathroom by, well, himself.

He was curled up in the tub, hoodie up, headsets blaring around his neck, and choking back sobs. His chest hurt and he felt numb. Every breath he took seemed forced, like his brain couldn’t function and his chest heaved. He tried to keep his sobs on the down-low, but it was hard as the urge to scream grew. Michael longed for his room, the one he (and Jeremy) had soundproofed so they could scream and be emotional in without bothering people. Not to mention, the room kept most noises out too, like his parents’ constant arguing, or the roaring highway, or derogatory slurs. Everything in the Dillinger household was too _loud_ , from the thumping of feet to the beat of the music (was that Whitney Houston?). Even Marley was too much for Michael and he wanted nothing more to isolate himself in his quiet room and scream. But Michael was a good fifteen-minute drive from his place and he had trapped himself inside Jake Dillinger’s basement bathroom at the biggest Halloween party he’d ever seen (and wasn’t actually supposed to be at but here he was anyways).

God, Michael wanted to evaporate. Or die. Both options sounded good.

_Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Michael jumped at the noise, hoodie falling from his head as he was jolted back to reality. He paused the music, the knocks echoing in his head like a destructive beat. Dissociative mental breakdowns would have to wait.

 _Oh God, they’re gonna start to shout soon,_ Michael thought, eyes wide as he pushed himself from the bathtub. He made his way to the sink, splashing water on his face as he tried to get rid of preferably everything, but his tear-stained face would have to do for now.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock…_

“I’ll be out soon!” he called, pulling his hoodie up and shoving his phone in his pocket. He took care to check for his keys, before hesitating at the door, as if testing to see if someone _really_ needed the bathroom. Maybe he could stay curled up for a little longer.

“Um, hello?” a nervous voice called from the other side of the door. Their voice was almost drowned out by the music. “I just––um, this might be weird but, like, um, you’ve been in there for forty minutes and I just––I don’t know how––um, I––are you okay?”

Michael froze, hand twitching as a new set of tears pooled his at his eyes. _They sound like Jeremy,_ he thought numbly, the stumbling and stuttering all–too–familiar in a way that hurt. He could faintly hear ‘loser’ echoing in the back of his mind like a bad mantra, taunting him at his lost friendship.

“I––“ He couldn’t seem to manage anything.

“You don’t need to answer!” the person said quickly, a panicky tone evident. “I just––I thought I heard crying? And I just, um, wanted to know if you were… good.” They finished the sentence awkwardly, like that wasn’t the word they were looking for and they were struggling to find it. “That sounded better in my head. Listen, um, I’ll just go, I’m sorry to bother you, I just––fuck, I’m sorry, I––“

“It’s okay,” Michael interrupted softly. He was surprised to hear his own voice––he sounded awful. “I just––I was leaving a––anyways.”

Despite his words, he didn’t go to open the door. The person on the other side was quiet. Or maybe they left. Maybe he scared them off. He felt another sob building up in his chest as he clenched his jaw, hand gripping the doorknob like it had personally wronged him and he had a score to settle. If he wasn’t a fuck up before, he’d fucked up now. He’d scared the one person who even tried to be nice to him this whole goddamn fucking evening off and here he was again, _alone_ , in the bathroom like some pathetic loser––

“Can––can I come, um, in?”

Michael’s body seemed to do a system restart, blinking the tears from his eyes as he stared at the doorknob, trying to imagine who was on the other side. He felt his hand shake and he nodded, only to remember that there was a very opaque door between him and whoever this actually decent person was.

He opened the door wordlessly, not even questioning why they wanted to come in, glancing down as he found himself face to face with… a sort-of stranger.

He vaguely could recognize the girl in front of him––they shared the same chemistry class and had been lab partners that one time. He remembered her being new, recalling how she’d moved in during the middle of last school year. The girl––he couldn’t think of her name––glanced up at him with brown eyes dark enough to be black, blinking a bit as she recognized him in turn. She seemed to be practically swallowed in the hoodie she wore, hood half off her head and glasses drooping down her nose. Her jacket mirrored his, with a few patches lining the sleeves and one on her chest. Her hair was a bit all over the place, giving her a skittish look.

She scooted herself in, small frame easily slipping past Michael as he numbly shut the door and locked it. She glanced up at him (was she always this short in class? He couldn’t remember), lips pursed as her finger tapped against her arm.

“I, um, I didn’t really think you were going to let me in,” she started awkwardly, “so I didn’t really… have a… y’know, plan.”

Michael nodded along, although he was half-convinced he wasn’t really processing anything.

“Wanna sit in the bathtub?” she offered weakly.

Michael nodded again.

The two settled down in the tub, Michael’s legs spilling over the side while his classmate (what was her name? Something with an ‘A’) curled up in her hoodie. They glanced at each other, not sure what to really do. They vaguely listened to the song emitting from outside––something about sex and butts. It was a pretty awful song.

“You’re Michael, right?” the girl piped after a moment.

“Um, yeah,” he replied. “I'm surprised you, um, remember.”

She chuckled weakly. “I’m Alex,” she introduced. “I’m pretty shitty with names, but yours stuck with me. Kinda like that Steven Puth guy. He’s Charlie Puth’s brother; I met them last year in New York for New Year’s. His brother was kinda hot.” She stopped short, shoulders sinking. “Sorry. I ramble a lot.”

“It’s cool,” he replied. “I think I could use a distraction.” He tried to manage a small smile in an attempt to convince both himself and Alex that he wasn’t _that_ much of a mess. “So, how hot was he on a scale of one to ten? Ten is Greek god hot, one is zombie hot.”

Alex’s eyes brighten at the incentive as she pulled out her phone (oh God was that an _Android_ in her hands?), scrolling through her gallery. She was practically on the bottom of the camera roll when she picked a photo, offering the phone to him.

“My sister took the photo, so it’s a pretty shitty picture,” she explained. “But I think he was kind of a solid eight. His brother was like a––“ She paused to think of it. “––seven-and-a-half.”

Michael glanced at the photo. The image was a bit blurred but still distinguishable. The man looked giant next to Alex, having at least two extra feet over her. He wore a simple suit, giving it a casual appearance. His dirty-blond hair was combed to the side and he offered a well-trained, but genuine smile to the camera. Below him, Alex offered a grin, braces glittering the light as she offered a cheeky peace sign. She wore the same sweatshirt as she did now, only with one patch on her chest, over where her heart would be.

“Mhm, I can agree with that,” he mused. He still wasn’t all in, but he sounded invested enough to surprise himself. Alex was surprisingly easy to talk to, though Michael could vaguely remember getting along with her during labs and in-between lectures. “Solid eight’s a good score for his look, yeah.”

Alex chuckled, before glancing away with a forlorn look.

“Look, about why I asked to come in,” she started, retreating into her hoodie some more. Michael watched her, the weight in his chest ever obvious. “I don’t do good at parties. Truth be told, I had the same mindset as you. I came with a popular friend––Amanda Connors?––as her plus one because she thought this would be a good opportunity to climb the social ladder and all; try on way-too-skimpy costumes, get drunk, smoke. Stuff like that. I wasn’t into it. Music was too loud, people were too pushy, too horny, there were too many people in general and I just––“ She took a breath as if reminding herself to calm down. “I saw you walk in earlier––saw that other kid, the tall one, walk in too––and figured you'd be out quickly. So I stood outside the door, but then there was––" She hesitated, before continuing. "––the tall kid came out and I saw you shut the door again and I figured you wanted space, because it was pretty obvious that your tall friend had kind of been a bit of a dick, but then the music only got louder and more uncomfortable in topic and I couldn’t take it so I knocked because I was getting desperate but then I heard you crying and oh God I’m rambling I’m sorry this isn’t even my business I’ll go––“

Alex untangled herself from her hoodie, panicked as she went to leave the tub, but Michael reached out and said, “No! Please stay.”

He wasn’t even entirely sure _why_ he wanted her to say. He just… he didn’t want to be alone. Her voice was good at drowning out his nightmarish thoughts––it was loud, but not overbearing. It was… good.

“You sure? Because I understand if you want to––“

“The last thing I need is to be alone,” Michael cut in.

 _You’ve interrupted her twice, Michael,_ a voice hissed in his ear, _now she’s definitely going to want to leave._

“Are––are you sure?” she repeated, still somewhat hesitant.

“I––I mean, only if you, um, want,” he replied, settling back into the tub, fully ready for Alex to leave. “I don’t expect you to, so I just––“

The brunette smiled in relief and settled down next to him, pausing his stumbling and stutters. She glanced at him, grateful.

“Thanks, Michael.”

He offered a weary smile. “I should be thanking you,” he replied. “You’ve done more to help me than I’ve done to help you.”

“Not true!” Alex gasped dramatically. “I was ready to have a mental breakdown out there!”

“I _was_ having a mental breakdown,” Michael rebutted, somewhat playfully, before realizing what he said and closing himself back up with pursed lips and a tight chest.

Alex turned to him, not seeming all that surprised. She offered a weak, but empathetic smile. “I figured,” she said. “I mean, I would have had a mental breakdown if you hadn’t been in the bathroom first, so I mean, I think we both would have ended up here regardless, cause you'd probably still end up here and I… y'know?”

Michael knew. He felt some comfort in her words that, in her mind and its thinking process, neither of them would have ended up alone in this situation.

She eyed him suddenly, seeming to judge his form. “How good at Pokémon are you?”

He actually managed a grin.

“You’re looking at the king, baby,” he responded, shooting off a finger gun. Nothing like Pokémon (or Magic of the Gathering––but that was tied to Jeremy so he best let that go for now) to improve his mood.

Alex returned the beam, pulling her purse onto her lap. Michael glanced at the simple black bag, noting the array of pins that’d been superglued to the fabric. One said _Equality Means All_ in rainbow letters. Another read _Feminist AF_ . His favorite, at first glance, was the UFO one that said _Just Take Me Already._ After a few more seconds of ruffling through her bag, she gave an excited “There it is!” before producing a blue DS with a signature dancing across its face. She showed off the game cartridge––Pokémon XY.

“Did you scribble on your DS?” Michael asked, trying to make out the markings on the surface.

“No!” Alex argued, flipping the DS open. She showed off the face, revealing a quote. “I got it signed by Veronica Taylor!”

“What!?” Michael exclaimed. “You got Ash Ketchum’s voice actor to sign your DS?”

“She even did the voice,” Alex added smugly, but her grin was more joking than elitist and she offered the DS to Michael. “Now help me grind for some Dark Types, this Fairy Type Gym is whooping my ass.”

Michael took the DS, shimming closer to Alex so she could peer over his shoulder (or around his shoulder, in her case). “Watch the pro work,” he said, starting up the game. “I’ve beaten this game three different times, with all three starters.” He glanced down at her. “You better have chosen Froakie by the way, he’s the superior starter.”

“Fuck off, Chespin’s a good boy and I love him dearly.”

“Weeeeaaak,” Michael sang, a comfortable smile on his face as he started the game, Alex catching him up on her progress and team.

While the two played––Michael adjusting her team so it was more balanced (“Hey, three fighting types is balanced!”) and them switching on and off between battles––Michael couldn’t help but be thankful for Alex’s existence. She wasn’t Jeremy, but then again, he couldn’t expect that from her. They’d only just properly met while he and Jeremy had twelve years of history. He’d never entirely understood how some people claimed to get along with people they’ve just met, but he was able to get it with Alex. Even Jeremy had taken a bit of building up, back in kindergarten when Michael had been more introverted than he was now. There were bouts of silence between the two while they played, but they tended to be more comfortable than awkward, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that she’d reached out to him. That she seemed to actually… care.

Unlike Jeremy.

The thought was like twisting a rusted knife in his gut and he took in a sharp breath, which Alex acknowledged through her flickering eyes, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she wordlessly passed the DS to him, leaning against his arm as she watched. Her finger tapped against her knee, a small, but constant noise that kept him grounded.

After Alex, no one knocked on the door.

Michael didn't mind though.

**Author's Note:**

> HEY, YOU! YEAH, YOU! PERSON READING THIS FIC! 
> 
> Okay so before you continue on, I'd like to say that Alex, the OC in this story, has been revamped into Veronica Taylor, who is featured in my other story, Maybe. I'd love if you'd check it out and give critiques on Veronica and the story. 
> 
> ––
> 
> I relate very much to Michael. Alex's design was low-key based off of him, but I just think (in this canon) that Alex admires Michael's hoodie and fashion sense and totally followed suit. This isn't Michael/OC, just some good ol' friendship forming because I crave to interact with this boy and I do it through Alex. 
> 
> Don't like? Don't read. Don't comment.
> 
> Feel free to scream at me on Tumblr @volarfinch


End file.
